


What If You Were Right?

by apolesen



Series: Complications [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Episode: s04e03 Hippocratic Oath, Feelings Realization, Light Angst, M/M, slight infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 07:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13735716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolesen/pseuds/apolesen
Summary: Bashir makes some not altogether serious comments about O’Brien’s marriage. A difficult mission and a falling-out later, O’Brien seeks him out, not to reproach him but to tell the truth, though he's not so sure he knows himself what it is.





	What If You Were Right?

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the first scene with Bashir and O'Brien in DS9 4x03 'Hippocratic Oath', and set just after the episode ends.

When the door-sensor to Julian Bashir’s quarters went off, only a few hours after his arrival back from the Gamma Quadrant and several days’ captivity at the hands of the Jem’Hadar, this was not who he had expected to find. O’Brien had changed into civilian clothing, but he looked like he had had little rest. 

‘What do you want, Chief?’ He did not attempt to hide his exasperated tone; he was not feeling much like company, least of all from him. 

‘I need to…’ O’Brien broke off, glanced down the corridor and then looked back at Bashir. ‘Can we talk?’ 

Bashir hesitated. 

‘Alright,’ he said finally and stepped aside. He waited until the door was closed to speak. ‘If this is about what you did, I meant what I said in the runabout. I won’t report you. You may have disobeyed orders, but I don’t want to ruin your career.’ 

‘I know,’ O’Brien said. ‘It’s not about that.’ His voice was calm, but his body exuded tension. His fingers curled into a fist and relaxed a few times. 

‘Is this a medical matter?’ Bashir asked. If it were, he should have gone to the infirmary, not to his quarters. 

‘No, it’s not. It’s about what you said.’ 

Bashir looked at him, nonplussed. O’Brien must have realised that he was being vague, because he looked down at his feet and said: 

‘About Keiko. Before we picked up that magneton pulse.’ 

It took him a moment to remember. It had been rather an absurd conversation, where O’Brien had ended up saying he wished she was more like Bashir, and then more like a man. Bashir had dropped the words ‘more like’ from that sentence when he repeated it. 

‘It was just one of those stupid things that slip out sometimes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

O’Brien bit his lip. Bashir did not think he had ever seen him look so vulnerable. 

‘What if you were right?’ 

Bashir would have sooner expected him to punch him. 

‘ _What_?’ 

O’Brien shrugged. 

‘I’ve been thinking. With Keiko on Bajor, you and I have been spending a lot of time together.’ 

‘We have,’ Bashir agreed. ‘We’re friends.’ 

‘We are.’ With an effort, O’Brien looked up at him. ‘I always look forward to it, you know. Darts and racquetball and all that. I find myself thinking about it.’ He looked away again. Bashir felt like he had swallowed a large fistful of ice. When O’Brien continued speaking, it was quieter, like he had to force the words out. ‘Sometimes, I think more about you than I think about Keiko.’ 

‘Chief, are you drunk?’ Bashir asked. O’Brien sighed. 

‘I wish I was,’ he said. ‘Then I’d know I was probably talking rubbish. But I’m not. That’s the worst part.’ 

Bashir stared at him. 

‘I don’t understand.’ 

‘I don’t either,’ O’Brien said. ‘I don’t know what I’m feeling. I thought I did, but those things you said…’ He crossed his arms across his chest, hard. ‘What if I’m in love with you, Julian?’ 

Bashir made a sound of surprise, somewhere between a cough and a laugh. 

‘This is nonsense,’ he said. ‘You’re happily married…’ 

‘Am I?’ O’Brien said, cutting him off. ‘I see my wife once every few months, and then, we do nothing but argue.’ 

‘You love her,’ Bashir said empathically. 

‘I do. But that’s not the point.’ He uncrossed his arms and put his hands in his pocket. ‘I don’t know, Julian. I thought I didn’t like men. But perhaps I’m wrong about that.’ He paused. ‘I don’t even know if you do. Go for men, I mean.’ 

Bashir realised only after a few moments that he had fallen silent, waiting for an answer. 

‘Sometimes.’ It came out quieter than he had intended. He shook himself. This whole thing was absurd. ‘Listen, Chief. You’re confused, and you’re exhausted. You and Keiko are having problems. We’ve just been through a terrible ordeal. You are taking that emotional vulnerability and making something else out of it.’ 

O’Brien looked at him, more directly than he thought he ever had. 

‘You mean I’m being silly?’ 

‘No!’ Bashir said. ‘I… I didn’t mean that. But it’s late, and you might not have thought this through.’ 

‘I’ve done nothing but think it through,’ O’Brien said, flaring up. ‘Every moment I wasn’t working on our escape. Do you think I’d come here and say something like this on a whim?’ 

‘Of course not,’ Bashir said softly. It hurt him, seeing O’Brien this exposed. He, who was always so solid and resilient, stood there with his heart in his hands. ‘You came here because you felt you had to.’ 

O’Brien looked away. 

‘Yeah.’ Then he rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. ‘Look, Julian. I don’t know what I’m feeling. But whatever this is, I don’t want it to ruin our friendship. And I thought… if I told you, perhaps it wouldn’t matter. Didn’t want to leave it and let it fester.’ 

‘Of course. I understand.’ 

They stood an arm’s length apart, still at the door. The silence between them seemed to go on forever. It was O’Brien who broke it with a scoffing laughter. 

‘Damn, I wish I was drunk.’ 

Bashir laughed. 

‘So do I.’ There was a bottle of Denebian brandy in the cupboard a few feet from the door, but Bashir did not offer, and O’Brien did not ask. They both knew it was not a good idea. 

‘I should go,’ O’Brien said. 

‘Wait,’ Bashir said, reaching out without thinking. O’Brien’s arm was warm through the cloth of his sleeve. ‘I don’t think any less of you.’ 

O’Brien covered Bashir’s hand with his own and squeezed it. There was something familiarly robust with that squeeze, but the look in his eyes was different. It was more than the fraternal trust they usually shared. There were no defences between them. It unsettled him, but it also made him feel protective. He hated, not that he felt this way, but that someone other than him might see it. Perhaps something in his own eyes softened, because he saw a subtle change in O’Brien’s face. It was like the look of someone who found himself at a gorge and was gathering his courage to jump.

His hand did not leave Bashir’s when he took a step closer. It was just a peck, so deferential and swift that it seemed almost chaste. It was long enough for Bashir to register that O’Brien’s lips were softer than he had expected. 

He stepped back, letting Bashir’s hand fall from where it had rested. 

‘Sorry,’ he said, quietly. ‘I thought I’d know for sure, if I kissed you. But apparently not.’ 

He dug his hands into his pockets. Bashir smiled a little, not knowing what else to do. He felt he should remind him of what he had - a wife, a child, a family - and tell him not to throw it away, but he could not bring himself to say any of that. O’Brien knew it all already. 

‘You should get some sleep,’ he said instead. 

‘You’re right,’ O’Brien said. ‘Might be able to sleep this off.’ He smiled half-heartedly. Bashir smiled back, but did not say anything. It would not be that simple. He probably knew that already. ‘Well. Good night, Julian.’ 

‘Good night, Chief.’ 

Bashir opened the door and O’Brien stepped out with a parting nod. Not looking back, he set off down the corridor. The door slid closed, only inches from him. His reflection looked back at him from the polished metal. _I don’t know what I’m feeling,_ O’Brien had said. Bashir thought he had known. Now, he really did not.


End file.
